


Worth it

by pseudodias



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, One Shot, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-01 00:51:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2753465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pseudodias/pseuds/pseudodias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Umar Ibn-La'Ahad is lost, wounded and in need of help. When a young english woman stumbles upon his broken body, Umar begins to thank every wound he gained.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worth it

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically just my spin on how Umar and Maud met one another. For those of you who are confused about who Maud is, she's Altaïr's mother. Enjoy!

Twenty saracens lay dead at his feet, sword oozing with their blood and kindly rolling off the tip. His breath quickens and lungs burn like the raging fire in his emerald gaze, teeth gritting as if it will stop the rustic flavor from flowing free. 

"Ahmad," Umar grunts out finally. The telltale sound of flags rippling in the wind and screams die somewhere beyond him. Beyond Jerusalem.. The young boy was a damned fool to think that snake of a man would have his back on anything! However, Umar doesn't have time to dwell on that fool; he has to focus on getting to Masyaf without dying. When he moves, the world begins to spin and it feels like his entrails may spill out. 

_Oh. Right._

There's blood soaking through his white robes. He bleeds from everywhere it seems and the gash in his abdomen splits with each breath. Umar drags himself in endless circles before losing his grip on the fragile world, somewhere outside a small camp. Anything after that seems like a macabre nightmare of indescribable dolor and trauma; why has he not died yet? Why is each breath slowly getting better? The brunette assassin begins to stir faintly from his sleep of death. It's cold embrace abandons him for now and grants him the sight of an angel. Umar squints against the flickering flames and flex his fingers for feeling. Nothing has been amputated, good sign. Still, all he can see is a young woman kneeling by a bowl of water and rinsing out a bloodied rag. Her hair tumbles down her back in long golden curls and when she swivels around to face him, she has emerald eyes that twinkle.

"You're alive, thank god." She breathes out, accent and obvious religion labels her as an English woman. Of course; the first crusade brought over many of their kind. All invested in the holy land. She finally moves back over to dab that rag at his exposed chest, extremely gentle and kind. "My mother said you must have been beaten up pretty bad...given the fancy weapons you carry."

"...What?"

Umar croaks and immediately hates saying anything at all. When his voice comes back, he will gladly tell this woman he was not bested, but left for dead by some idiot! Beat up, pfffft!

Said woman cups his cheeks and smoothes fingers along cheekbones, cooing as if he is a child in this situation. The nerve! 

"Don't try to talk now. Here, drink." She's tilting the canteen up against his lips and Umar reluctantly drinks until he's left gasping for air. Hand comes up to nudge the canteen aside and he slowly sits...again with her help. "You've been out cold for weeks now. I was digging you a grave before I heard you cough."

Umar is once again lost for words. Digging him a damned grave, huh? Explains why her tunic was dirty as hell.

For a woman of Christianity, she sure lacked faith.

Umar would still rather put her in her unfaithful place than be subjected to hearing about how bad he failed. Ahmad was probably bathing in glory with Rashid while Umar sat in a tent with a naive English woman.

Sigh.

"I need to--"

"Leave?" She interrupts sternly. The brunette assassin is taken by surprise at how quickly her demeanor changed. One minute she's this shy, timid girl and then the next she's whirling around on him with graceful fire. "You're not leaving; not while the raids are happening."

Umar finally remembers - why he's here and not in Masyaf. Al Mualim ordered him and Ahmad to lead the troops into Jerusalem to drive out the Saracens when all hell broke loose. How many weeks has he been out cold?

"Woman, you do not understand," he hisses out past a pained grunt. "I need to get home. I need to stop these raids. I need to do /something/ besides laying around!" It's not that hard to let him go right? Turns out his wounds were just as severe as the girl had said. The world becoming black and her call falls on deaf ears.

Everything is silent. Stilled. Like the world robbed him of all his senses despite the war going on right outside that tent. The girl screams for him to wake up and she tries to hoist his limp body out and away. But his body is like bricks and she doesn't make it far before falling in the mud.

Hell surrounds them.

Feet and hooves alike scatter across the thick ground. There's flames and smoke, bodies being impaled and set on fire. Screams that make her cringe against the man's body. 

Only then does she feel herself being lifted up and on her feet, familiar rough hands shoving her forward. It's him. The ignorant, stupid man who blacked out for a few days. 

Umar can tell by her bewilderment and enraged eyes that she's pissed with him. Oh well. Once he saves her and returns the favor, she'll have no choice but to be thrilled~. Together they stumble and crawl through the carnage, desperately making a run for the trees. Umar is nearly there when the girl suddenly falls down. She makes no attempt to get up; much to his damn irritation. Of all the times to rest, she chooses now!

"On your feet! Now!" He shouts across the sound of choked death. She's swatting away his hands, tears streaming down pale cheeks.

"It's over! My mother...my father! They're all dead!" She screams back, inching away from the Syrian. For a second, Umar is dumbfounded on what to do. He learned that upset women are very dangerous, especially when they've given up.

So much for being the hero in this situation.

Novice.

He can hear Faheem calling him that in his foggy mind; the very thought making Umar press forward and offer his hand towards the girl. "What is the damn point of giving up, hm? Shaming your family's honor by dying like a dog?! You will not die by the hands of Templar scum today - not ever." Because Umar refuses to watch another innocent die before his eyes.

Especially not a woman who has so much fire and spirit in her heart.

Those big green eyes stare up at the extended hand, the bracer, the white robed arm and the Syrian assassin before.

Hesitantly..

...she accepts.

"So what now?" She asks once they are safely away from the raid. Umar is still walking forward, a few miles out from Masyaf now. He's learned a lot about this girl.

Her name is Maud Birch. A nineteen year old English nurse who's father served in the Ottoman politics in Constantinople. Her mother was a teacher when she and Maud were transfered to Syria. Explains why Salah Ah'din were tracking down their group. Apparently her mother and father both refused his offer and became targets.

"You have a choice. Come back with me to Masyaf and start a new life there or part ways here." Umar says softly. He can sense the tension of each silent second that passes before a hand is grabbing his.

"Is it not possible for a woman to be an assassin?" She inquires, hands now on hips and a womanly pout. 

"I would not know. I am only an apprentice myself."

"Ahah! So there's a chance I can be, right?"

She catches Umar by surprise and he only surrenders a smile. Continuing on and listening to the ecstatic girl ramble on. 

Funny. How he came so close to death and ended up bringing back a new piece of life. No matter his screwup or his aching wounds - one thing is true.

It was worth it.


End file.
